It's All Fun And Games Until Someone Gets Hurt
by Kandakicksass
Summary: One horrible night, Itachi was raped. Now, Madara has to pick up the pieces and he's not sure if he can without losing his mind in the process. Oneshot, MadaxIta. Giftfic for Chi Takashi!


…**and then it's hilarious. A gift fic for Chi Takashi!**

"Good morning, aniki."

Madara looked over his shoulder, giving his younger brother a smile though jet-black bangs.

"Good morning, Izuna. I'm making bacon. Want some?" Usually, his attitude toward his otouto was much more volatile, but it was better in the morning. Izuna was much less annoying when he was just waking up; he was polite, and reserved. Madara greatly enjoyed having such a quiet brother and he liked to have it last for as long as it could.

He nodded groggily, his expression innocent and somewhat exhausted. Madara knew why, too—it was hard to miss. Itachi and Sasuke's screaming all night long wasn't an easy thing to ignore, after all.

"ARGH—DAMN YOU, ANIKI!"

Madara's eyes automatically widened as his head snapped to face the bedroom next to his own. He had only barely calmed down, remembering yet again that he was no longer the only aniki in his home—because it was a difficult thing to get used to—before Itachi's curses neatly covered his as he realized his own long black hair was promptly doused in bacon grease.

"FU—"

"WATCH YOUR FUCKING MOUTH, OTOUTO!"

Setting down the spatula, Madara sighed, cleaning off his hair and tying it in a ponytail to keep it out of the way. He had just picked up the utensil again and began to flip the bacon when a well-groomed, albeit pissed off, teenager stormed out of the bedroom he shared with his younger brother.

Madara had to force himself to wrench his eyes away; Uchiha Itachi was certainly a sight to behold. With his long black tresses (that Madara faithfully bought salon-quality hair products for every month) and dark, plentiful eyelashes, Madara had almost turned him and Sasuke away when the authorities had brought them to his door. They told a sad tale—one that brought a crushing blow to Madara and Izuna, who were very close to their third brother, Fugaku.

It wasn't that Madara didn't want his deceased brother's sons—he did. He had, after all, agreed to be their guardian should something happen to Fugaku and his beautiful wife, Mikoto. However, since Madara lived halfway across the country (and had been out of the country on many business ventures over the course of the past ten years) hadn't seen the boys since they were children, and while he expected them to be good looking, he hadn't expected Itachi's appearance alone to be a jeans-creamer. That certainly tried his faith in his guardian abilities.

"Madara-oji-san," Itachi ground out through clenched teeth. "Sasuke has stolen my hair straightener and he refuses to relinquish it."

Madara sighed. This, at least, he knew how to solve.

"Sasuke!" he called. "Give your brother back his hair straightener! And Itachi, why do you need a flat iron in the first place? Your hair is perfectly straight as it is." He refused to add how gay it made him seem, especially because, well, Madara kind of liked the gaiety.

"Straighter than his personality," Sasuke interjected, weaving through Itachi and Izuna with the iron in hand, a devious grin on his twelve year old face. Itachi, almost seventeen, had to hold himself back. Madara had seen his fists clench, though, before he had loosened them.

Madara, unable to resist laughing, agreed. "Well, he's right about that."

Itachi's eye twitched as he snatched the straightener back.

Teasing Itachi was one thing Madara knew how to do. "What's wrong, Itachi? If you want, I could straighten your hair for you, and we could talk about clothes and girls—okay, no, boys, and—"

Itachi was gone before he could finish the sentence and by the way his walking made loud booming sounds as he walked, Madara was pretty sure he was pissed.

Madara thought about it. He was proud of himself.

"Aniki, don't you think you're too hard on him?"

Madara blinked, his eyes zeroing in on Izuna, who was giving him a stern look. So Izuna had finally fully awakened.

"Why would I think that?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. Izuna snorted, running his fingers through his hair. He had been growing it out recently and it fell almost past his shoulder blades. It wasn't near as long as Madara's, but it was Izuna's goal to have longer hair than his brother.

"Maybe because you're gayer than he is," Izuna suggested, his lips quirking upward, amused. "Way gayer."

Madara rolled his eyes. "Grow up, otouto. You sound like Sasuke."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Sasuke chimed in, dashing back into the kitchen. "He's right though. Weird. Usually I'm the first to notice things like that. You are really gay, Madara-oji-san."

Madara rolled his eyes. "I'm not the one who was making out with my blonde best friend yesterday, was I, Sasuke?"

Sasuke shut his mouth, his face going red from his chin to his hairline. He spluttered, trying to find something to say.

"Sasuke did _what_?" Itachi asked, coming back into the room. He was tying his hair in a ponytail, which would have been funny if it weren't for the homicidal expression on his lovely face. "Because I thought I heard Madara-oji-san say you were making out with Naruto-kun."

Sasuke gulped, looking over at his elder brother with a deeply self-concerned expression. "You're hearing things," Sasuke attempted. "Are you okay? You didn't stick your flat iron in your ear again, did you? Because that can't be good to do repeatedly—"

"Uchiha Sasuke, answer the question," Itachi said flatly. Sasuke laughed weakly, then made a mad dash for the door, making it outside and on his way to school before Itachi could object. "Dammit," he growled. "He got away."

Madara laughed. "Shouldn't you be going, too, Itachi-kun?"

Itachi sighed. "Yes. I'll see you after school."

"Be safe!" Madara called after him. If only he'd known.

(Insert astricts here—FF GIMME MEH ASTRICTS BACK!)

"Where is your brother?"

Sasuke frowned, biting his lower lip in worry. He shook his head, his uncle standing over him. "I don't know! He wasn't on the bus." Madara let out a harsh breath, his eyebrows furrowing. Where the fuck was that boy?

Later, Madara found himself pacing back and forth, beginning to get impatient. He'd been waiting, waiting for hours. Long, agonizing hours. The police were out searching for his—for Itachi, desperately searching. Fugaku, before his death, had been a part of their ranks for years, and they still loved his two beautiful children, lovely Itachi and adorable Sasuke. He also had members of his own circle out looking—very dangerous acquaintances used to very dangerous things.

Sasuke had fallen asleep ages ago, laying on the couch, snoring lightly. He looked innocent when he was asleep, innocent and troubled. He looked about ready to burst into tears, something that made Madara feel almost sick. He walked over, keeping as quiet as possible to avoid waking him. He smoothed the boy's messy hair, stroking it to keep himself grounded.

He was going almost mad with worry when he received a call from one of his contacts deep within the city underground.

"We found him," Nagato said shortly. "He's pretty bruised up. To be completely honest, I think he was raped."

He said this with the cold calmness of a man only asked to perform a mission and had carried it out. He wasn't surprised, even though it angered him he could talk about his nephew being _raped _with such emotionless composition. He froze, his hand freezing where it was delicately caressing Sasuke's wild hair, feeling dread bubble up within him.

"Who do you think it was?" he asked quietly.

"Someone from Hebi Corps, to be honest. I know no one from Akatsuki would touch Itachi-kun," Nagato mused. "They know they'd get it from you." The mention of the rival gang made him seethe. Orochimaru, the scum bag yakuza lord behind all the big deals in the underworld, had been after his youngest nephew for a very long time, and it didn't surprise him that he'd finally gotten to one of the boys.

Madara and Izuna had gotten involved in the underworld a very long time ago—almost five years before Fugaku's death, in fact. He had been trying to pay off a debt his brother owed to one Orochimaru himself when he'd gotten himself involved with an organization that needed a hit man, and as it so happened his martial arts studies had made him the man for the job. He'd had to learn a lot more about weapons—guns in particular—but for his first job, he had been given something easy, and he'd carried it out with deadly efficiently, giving him a permanent place of work. The gang membership came later, with many trials of trust.

"Thank you," he muttered. "Should I go pick him up, or—"

"We're already on our way, Madara. No worries. We're less than three minutes away."

"Good," he hissed. "Should he need a doctor?"

"No," he said after a moment of careful thought. "We had Konan look him over, and she thinks he's fine, physically. His anus is torn, of course, but it could have been a lot worse. They only raped him—he wasn't beaten. He's been cleaned."

"By Konan?" If he said any of the men had done it, he would be out for blood when Itachi was well.

"Of course. Do you think I'm stupid enough to let another man handle him? I know as well as any other that when it comes to you, Uchiha Itachi is precious merchandise," Nagato snorted. "Have some faith in me. I'm almost there, so wait for me outside, and I'll just hand him off to you and you can do what you want from there."

"Sounds fair enough." He looked down to make sure Sasuke was still asleep, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw that he was. Sasuke seeing Itachi the way he was sure to be looking wouldn't be good—as a matter of fact, he was sure it would be catastrophic. He practically ran out of the apartment, forgetting his shoes or a jacket, his long black hair blazing behind him as he flew down the stairs, rushing to the front doors. He got there so fast it was a full minute before Nagato's car—a '77 Chevy imported from some seller in America—turned the corner on his street, screeching to a halt outside his building.

"You're impatient," Nagato said cooly, stepping out and opening the back door. He was handed a large, raven-haired bundle, which was promptly passed to Madara, who stood in shock, staring at the boy in his arms. Itachi looked vacant, his eyes open but glazed, his arms wrapped tight around him. Madara noticed he was keeping the collar of the flower-patterned yukata he'd been dressed in—a very simple thing made of light cotton—very tightly shut.

"Itachi, shh, it's okay," he murmured, and the teen's body trembled. "Itachi, you're home. Do you know who I am?" It appeared Itachi was in shock.

"Madara-oji-san," he croaked, his eyes roving to meet his, but Madara didn't like how cloudy and unfocused they looked. "Madara-oji-san," he repeated. "I'm so cold."

Madara held him tighter, his arms holding Itachi's skinny frame effortlessly. Itachi's head dropped against his uncle's chest, his hand over his own heartbeat. Madara was praying that he would be okay, praying he wasn't going to lose it.

"Madara-oji-san," he whispered, tears welling in his eyes as Nagato watched with a cold expression. Inside the back seat, Konan sat giving Itachi a concerned expression. She was one of the few members of Akatsuki that he actually liked as a person—she was kind, warm hearted, but she was a medic with skills greater than any professional doctor—it just so happened she meddled in darker remedies and methods. She dealt in the black market, for one thing, and she didn't follow normal procedures, especially when it came to something being "too much of a risk".

"Yes, Itachi," he murmured, turning around and carrying Itachi inside. "It's me. I'm here."

"I'm tired," he whimpered, his voice hoarse. "I'm so tired." Madara soothed him, murmuring mindless niceties until they reached the apartment.

"I'm taking you to bed," he said softly, rocking the teenager slightly. "It's okay, Itachi. You just need to sleep."

When he put the boy to bed, he wasn't entirely convinced. He carried Sasuke to his room letting him share the bed with Izuna. They had apparently often done that when Sasuke was younger, since Izuna had more opportunities to visit than he had since Izuna practically lived off of him.

Madara went to sleep in the living room, not wanting to be there when Izuna woke up to find a child in his bed, and hoped that when he woke, Itachi might have woken enough to tell him what had happened… or at least begin to recover.

(Insert astricts here—FF GIMME MEH ASTRICTS BACK!)

It had been almost a month since Itachi's attack, and just as Madara had feared, things didn't get better—they got worse. Much worse. Itachi dropped out of school—he now accompanied Madara wherever he went, be it work or an assignment for one of the various underground companies he aided, and he barely slept.

Sasuke slept in his brother's bed with him most nights, and when he didn't he was with Madara or Izuna. Itachi's disappearance and following terror had sparked something inside of him, something that made him beyond terrified just to be alone.

Still, it was Itachi who was the worry. Itachi didn't sleep if he could help it anymore and he had bags under his eyes, haunting violent rings that somehow made him look more like a like a doll by emphasizing his dark eyes. He was skinny before, and he thankfully hadn't lost any weight even if he looked smaller from all of the curling in on himself he did. It was Madara's biggest fear, that he would lose weight on top of the lack of sleep, and at least _that _one hadn't come true.

He sat in Itachi's room, combing his long hair. Itachi made it rather difficult, because he was huddled against his chest and Madara couldn't move back an inch before the boy made small sounds of disappointment, so he had to crane his neck back and push Itachi's head forward to have easy enough access to his hair.

"Itachi, your hair is growing quite long. Are you sure you don't want to get it cut?" Madara asked conversationally. Normally, he would have made some smart ass comment about him looking more and more like a girl, but he couldn't—he wasn't that cruel. Itachi had been treated like a _girl_ more than enough.

"No," he mumbled. "I like it long." Madara smoothed the long raven tresses.

"I know, Itachi. It's okay, I like it long, too. I just wanted to make sure." Itachi mumbled something, but Madara knew by that point not to ask when Itachi mumbled. It was usually something he didn't want to hear, something morbid that usually scared him for Itachi's life.

Itachi looked up at him with his big black eyes, doe eying him. He looked down with a raised eyebrow. "Yes, Itachi?"

"Will you braid it, too?"

Madara laughed. "Well, of course. You don't have to ask." He begun with the task, delicately weaving the licorice colored locks. "Your hair is beautiful, Itachi. I don't think you should ever cut it short." Itachi nodded in agreement, humming a song to himself, playing with the flaking nail polish on his toenails. "Are you feeling okay?"

He hummed in the affirmative and Madara let his suspicion and worry soothe. He'd been doing too much worrying—every shift when Itachi was sitting made him nearly die from both anger, and the question about whether he should take the boy to the hospital even though he was already fully healed.

"You ready for bed?" he asked when he finished and Itachi was playing with the braid that hung over his shoulder. Itachi nodded.

"Where are otouto and Izuna-oji-san?" he asked, looking up at him again with that look to which he could refuse nothing.

"They are staying the night at your grandparents house," Madara replied, smoothing Itachi's bangs. The boy nodded absently, leaning into the caress. "Do you not want to be alone?" Itachi looked up, as if contemplating something, but Madara had a feeling he did not like what he was contemplating at all. There was a half-twisted look in his beautiful eyes that almost scared him.

"No, I'll be fine," he said quietly after a moment's careful consideration. "Good night, Madara-oji-san."

Madara said goodnight, stopping in the doorway to give Itachi one last confused look before retreating to his own bedroom. He found himself there, laying awake in a pair of sweat pants, when two hours later, after the sun had went down, he found himself in the shadow of a slim seventeen year old with a vulnerable grimace.

"Madara-oji-san," he said quietly. His tone wasn't questioning, it was just a statement. Madara noticed he'd undone the braid—he'd likely asked Madara to do it just to have his hair played with some more.

"Yes, Itachi?"

"Can I stay with you tonight, Madara-oji-san?" Itachi knelt next to the bed, looking up at him with those doe eyes he both hated and adored. Madara nodded, knowing he couldn't refuse. Itachi had been shattered and here he was, trying to pick up the pieces. "Thank you, Madara-oji-san." He stood, sitting down on the edge of the bed, laying down, just looking at Madara.

"Itachi, are you okay?" he asked, placing a careful foot and a half between him and the warm body in his bed.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he asked in a curiously pleasant voice. "I'm fine. Better than fine, actually. Didn't you want me to be fine, Madara-oji-san?" His eyes were smoldering, burning with intensity. "Will you help me to be fine, Madara-oji-san?" Madara sat up when Itachi did, mirroring his every motion—when Itachi inched forward, Madara inched backward.

"Itachi, what are you doing?" Madara forced out as his back hit the wall, his voice stuttering slightly. "Itachi!" Itachi didn't blink, he just looked up at him, batting those long black eyelashes. His eyes bore into his own.

"Make me fine, Madara-oji-san," he whispered. He placed a hand on Madara's knee and Madara didn't quite know what to say—or how to react. He felt almost sick when he realized what had happened.

Itachi had finally lost his mind.

He was frozen, unable to move as Itachi advanced on him, moving the hand not on his knee over his crotch, ghosting over it, before cupping him with the slightest pressure.

"Make me fine," he repeated under his breath, his entrancing eyes wide and glazed. "Get hard for me, Madara-oji-san. Get hard for me!"

Madara groaned against his will, his hips thrusting up slightly as Itachi rubbed his now half-erect cock through his thin sweats. "Itachi, no," he managed, placing a hand over Itachi's with the intent to pull it away. "Itachi, god, _no_… this is so wrong…" He could barely get the words out when Itachi leaned forward, pressing his lips to his chin.

"What's wrong is what they did to me," he whispered. "And I hate myself because I need more of it." He continued kissing up and down his uncle's jaw line. "You're so handsome, Madara-oji-sama." _Sama_? His dazed mind barely registered the word. "I need it, oji-sama. _Need_." His gaze locked with Madara's, gloriously intense. "Won't you fuck me, oji-sama?"

That did it; even if it was Itachi, that did it. His erection stood tall and proud, tenting the dark blue sweats under Itachi's palm, his index finger lightly scratching up and down his length. "Itachi," he groaned loudly, throwing his head back to rest against the wall.

"Fuck me, oji-sama!" he said sharply and Madara shook his head violently. Itachi removed his hand from his uncle's erection, grasping Madara's face, making his uncle look at him. "I need this," he pled desperately. "Please! I need it. I feel sick, I feel it every day. Make it go away, oji-sama! Please, god, make it go away!" Tears welled in his eyes and Madara couldn't speak. He could only listen as Itachi forced back the tears before gritting his teeth, his expression deranged and determined.

Itachi trailed his fingers over the planes of Madara's face, not saying anything. It almost scared Madara, how quiet Itachi was being. He could remember when he talked constantly, sharing everything on his mind. Madara couldn't read him, and he had no clue what to do.

"What are you thinking?" he whispered, making Itachi cock his head at him.

Itachi played with the drawstrings on his sweats. "I feel sick," he repeated, loosening the strings. "I didn't feel sick like this, not before. My body…" His voice dropped down to a whisper, his hands rubbing small circles into the bare flesh of his pelvis where his loose sweats had fallen below. "My body needs something. I don't know what, but I keep thinking back to what happened in that alley…" He shuddered, going extremely pale.

"You want me to rape you?" Madara's voice was barely audible. Itachi shook his head, raven locks flying.

"I just need something," he answered almost desperately. "I need to feel…" He struggled for something to say before it hit him, Madara could tell by the way his eyes lit before shadowing. "I need to feel dirty again.

"Well, having sex with your uncle will certainly do it." Madara sounded like he was in shock. Itachi leaned up, his lips quivering just a centimeter away from his uncle's. "Itachi, no, there has got to be something else." Itachi shook his head.

"There's nothing." With that, he leaned forward just slightly, their lips touching for the first time. For a moment, neither of them moved, both considering their options. Itachi didn't take too long to decide because it wasn't even a minute before his hand slipped to the hair at the base of Madara's neck, pulling him closer and crushing their lips together harder. He parted his lips just enough to lick Madara's lower lip, making the man stiffen. The boy scrambled to straddle him, forcing his body down on the man's erection, wrenching a gasp from his uncle that allowed him to slip his tongue into the moist cavern of Madara's mouth, deepening their kiss considerably.

Madara hadn't been with anyone recently, be it whore or boyfriend, and he was unable to keep his hips from jerking up against Itachi's warm, willing body. His _nephew._ "That's it," he whispered into Madara's ear. "Just let go." Itachi was no prostitute, and he had no hands-on practice in seduction, but he was both a man himself and smart, and he knew what part of his body needed to go where to encourage his uncle to do exactly what he wanted. Itachi pressed himself against Madara to the point where it was almost unbearable. Itachi was doing such a good job that Madara couldn't think of anything but the tight heat waiting for him beyond those black cotton shorts.

He groaned, his nephew grinding down on him in a way that prevented him from thinking of anything but how provocative those thin shorts really were. They rode up all the way to his crotch, exposing the length of each long, creamy white leg. They tightened around him, those long legs, as Itachi nipped at his lower lip slightly. The boy rocked himself over the length of Madara's cock once and the elder Uchiha groaned loudly into Itachi's mouth.

"Don't you feel dirty enough just wanting to do this? Isn't that enough?" Even though he said the words, they didn't stop him from unwillingly putting his hands on Itachi's hips to gain more of that sweet, unholy friction. The boy moaned and Madara winced at just how amazingly sexy he found the sound.

"Madara-oji-san," he gasped. "Take me. Prepare me. I need you, Madara-oji-san." Somehow managing to completely ignore Madara's request, the low growl was both a plea and a command. Madara couldn't help but run his hands up Itachi's back and back down before slipping hesitantly into the boy's shorts, making him moan again, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Not yet," Itachi managed to force out, contradicting himself. "Not just yet. Touch me." Madara groaned, sliding his hands back from the waist band of the raven's shorts, trying to deny how Itachi's demand had affected him. "Madara-oji-san…" Itachi pressed his body down onto Madara's pulsing length, which wanted Itachi much more than he was willing to admit, even to himself. Groaning in defeat, he slid a hand into the boy's clingy, thin shorts.

Itachi's reaction was a long, loud moan, pressing his hips forward. Madara, with a deep breath, wrapped his hand around Itachi's cock. He didn't have to see it to know how much it wad dripping, or how red it was—Itachi had a teenager's body and a mind full of one of the dirtiest, kinkiest things Madara could fathom. The skin his hand found was smooth and soft, slick with the younger Uchiha's precum. Itachi's fervent lips found his again and he groaned into his uncle's mouth.

Madara wasn't much better off. He was panting, barely able to keep his hips from thrusting up against that delicious ass. "Madara-oji-sama," he whispered, reaching one hand into his sweats and the other into the long black hair that fell around them like a curtain. The hand on his arousal pulled him under and he lost all sense of decency, shamelessly bucking into his nephew's hand, jerking the boy off with a strength unknown to his seventeen year old body. He could see it in Itachi's eyes—he was thrilled by the touch, the animalistic show of power, and was turned on by it. Madara, somewhere in his muddled brain, knew that what he was doing was possibly the stupidest thing he'd ever done, and he hated himself, knowing he was going to do it anyway.

Itachi stopped him shortly before they both came, his expression desperate. "Madara-oji-sama, I don't want to come until It's from you taking me," he said bluntly in a strained voice, standing just long enough to strip himself of those lecherous little shorts. Madara could barely keep his hands off of him—those long, creamy white legs and flushed length. "I need you to take me now."

Madara nodded, unable to argue or even complain and rose two shaky fingers to Itachi's mouth. Itachi climbed back into his lap and with eyes locked on Madara's, he took them in, rolling his tongue over them. When Itachi pulled them away from his swollen, cherry colored lips, Madara trembled in both horror and anticipation as his hand was guided toward Itachi's pale, bare ass.

"I will prepare myself on your fingers if I have to, oji-sama," he threatened, his dark eyes smoldering. The words made an aroused shiver go down his spine unwillingly. Itachi trembled against him and Madara closed his own eyes, unable to erase the thought that this was his _nephew_ as he lightly pushed the tip of his finger past the tight ring of muscle.

Itachi moaned against him as finger after finger filled him, pushing back against them. Madara felt almost sick, thinking about how this was his _nephew_, who was acting like a whore now, desperate to feel dirty just to feel all right again.

When Itachi reached up, pulling himself into a sitting position, pressing himself down onto Madara's erection, there were no barriers. Madara had just pulled his sweats off—or rather, Itachi had made him pull them off, and there was nothing to get in the way. He was pushed onto his back, forced to watch as his head was swallowed by a scarred pink hole, then inch by inch the entirety of his manhood disappeared.

Itachi was quietly breathing for a while his body got used to the intrusion. This, at least, Madara could be thankful for, because he'd been sure Itachi would just ignore the pain and continue.

"Madara-oji-sama," he murmured after a few moments. "Please?"

Madara groaned, wrapping his hands around Itachi's hips, pulling him up and slamming him down again, making him let out a soft scream. He picked up the pace, penetrating the boy every single time so deeply it rocked the teenager to his core. Itachi could never keep quiet— he couldn't hold the sounds back. A string of moans, or Madara's name, over and over again, like a mantra.

When they finally came, together, Itachi's tight body curling on itself, his passage clenching on Madara's erection, they both screamed and their world dissolved.

(Insert astricts here—FF GIMME MEH ASTRICTS BACK!)

When he woke, Itachi was silent in his arms, the only sound in the room their breathing. He noticed that there were sounds in the kitchen, like someone cooking, but other than that it was quiet. So Izuna was home, and from the sound of it, he had probably seen Itachi and Madara. A horrible feeling twisted itself in his stomach.

He sat up, Itachi slumping a little, even though he knew the boy was awake.

"I don't want to face them," he whispered. "He saw us. Izuna, I mean. And the look on his face…" He stopped, his eyes watering. Madara didn't say anything as Itachi cried. His crying broke Madara's heart, and he wished there was something he could do. He wished that Itachi felt bad for what he did, for dragging his uncle down with him, but they weren't tears of shame. They were tears of fright, tears of a boy who had gotten himself into something he couldn't live if he stopped doing, but was afraid of the consequences.

Madara thought that was just right, but he wasn't one to talk. In trying to save Itachi, he'd damned himself, too. In trying to find Itachi's mind, he'd lost his own. He hated himself for allowing this to happen. He did, but if he left now, Itachi would haunt him for the rest of his life. He loved the boy, enough that he would follow him to hell if he had to.

"I know, Itachi," he murmured into the boy's hair, stroking it and placing a kiss on his forehead. "I know."

**I'm not sure what's up with this. But I like it. But why is it so dark? ^.^ If I don't get chapter seventeen of Haunting Eternity up today, it will be up tomorrow…**

**Kandakicksass**


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